


Roasting On An Open Fire

by ciaconnaa



Series: 12 Days of Irondad & Spideyson Christmas [5]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, and minor injuries due to said house fire, includes descriptions of a house fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 02:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16945422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciaconnaa/pseuds/ciaconnaa
Summary: “Peter,” Karen warns after he’s already slung a web and is stuck outside an untouched window on the top floor. “The fire has spread at an alarming rate. Be wary of structural damage.”He’s already through the window, hustling through someone’s bedroom. “Thanks, Karen, but I’m sure I’ll be fine - ow!”The doorknob on the bedroom door burns his hand. Not the best start for a rescue mission.or;Peter's house fire rescue involves saving a baby and crashing into a nativity scene. The latter is an accident.





	Roasting On An Open Fire

Contrary to what Ned thinks, Spider-Man doesn’t really _do_ house fires.

It’s not that he _wouldn’t,_ because he totally would. He’s here to help anyone that needs it, not just to stop crime. It’s just that the fireman always beat him to it. Even with Karen giving him updates through the suit, the fire trucks always get there before him. In Peter’s opinion, the police should take notes - because not _once_ has Spider-Man beat an officer to an alleyway mugging or a bodega robbery.

But, as statistics would have it, there is eventually a fire that needs even Spider-Man’s help.

He’s not in the suit when he realizes what’s happening. He’s coming out of a Best Buy when he _smells it_ a few blocks away. The worst part is everyone else can, too. They’re stopped in the streets with their heads tilted high, looking at the large plume of smoke coming from the on-fire apartment building.

 _December has the highest rate of house fires._ Peter heard the fact on the news. Christmas comes and people who shouldn’t be cooking try using their ovens and burn shit, and people who normally don’t light candles leave their houses with them lit, and people who typically don’t keep dry, unwatered trees in their houses...do just that, and it’s just bad news when the Christmas lights spark from overuse and the whole thing goes up in flames.

He tries not to think too much about what caused it and focuses on how fast he can _help_ as he ducks into an alleyway to put on his suit. He webs his backpack to a dumpster, prays it doesn’t get stolen _again,_ and starts swinging.

When he gets there, the block is _packed_ despite fireman trying to push people out of the way. Spider-Man is definitely late to the party, but it’s still going on if the six story blaze is anything to go by. It’s one of the older building in Queens, probably filled with rich history, skinny support beams, and mild structural damage from even before it went up in flames. He can see said flames licking out from every floor, and Peter can safely say that he’s never seen a fire that rampant before.

“Karen, how many people are there inside?”

 _“It’s difficult to read human heat signatures due to the fire.”_ There’s a pause and then, _“I believe there are fifteen people in the building, a majority of them fireman on the lower floors. They’re making their way up now.”_

“Perfect,” Peter says, “I’ll start from the top and meet them in the middle.”

 _“Peter,”_ Karen warns after he’s already slung a web and is stuck outside an untouched window on the top floor. _“The fire has spread at an alarming rate. Be wary of structural damage.”_

He’s already through the window, hustling through someone’s bedroom. “Thanks, Karen, but I’m sure I’ll be fine - ow!”

The doorknob on the bedroom door _burns_ his _hand._

Not the best start for a rescue mission.

Peter’s forced to resist the urge to put his fingers in his mouth or run it under a sink of cold water. There isn’t exactly time, nor the concept of _cold_ in this building right now. “I thought this suit was fireproof.”

_“It’s not. I’m sorry, Peter.”_

“He put in a heater and wove  _Kevlar_ into the fabric but he didn’t think to make it fireproof? I thought he said he put everything in this suit.”

 _“Spider-Man has never been a part of a house fire rescue. Mr. Stark likely didn’t think you’d find yourself in this situation._ _Should I make a note to add it to the list of updates?”_

“Yeah, you do that,” Peter mumbles, because he’s already unbelievably _hot._ He wants to take off the mask, but resists that urge too. With a well aimed kick he snaps the bedroom door off its hinges, slamming it into the adjacent wall.

Even with his super-reflexes, he barely manages to dodge the _fireball_ that comes barreling in from the hallway.

He jumps on the ceiling and crawls into the hallway, which suddenly reveals the very much on fire living room. Those videos on the news about the dry Christmas tree going up in absolute flames in like, thirty seconds were no joke. The place is getting _torched._ There’s remnants of the tree, tinsel, and furniture already becoming ash. There's a Santa figurine that's  _melting._

It's not a great sign.

“Hello?” Peter shouts, but the blaze is a little loud. He holds one hand to the ceiling and lifts his mask just a little, right above his mouth. It’s not the best idea; he starts to cough. “ _Hello!?_ Anyone here?!”

No one answers him, but he spots a crumpled woman on the floor in front of her couch. The fire is dangerously close to getting her, and honestly he wouldn't be surprised if she had already been burned in some capacity. He wastes no time in getting over there, pulling his mask back down and crawling on the ceiling, dropping in front of her. Two fingers immediately going to her neck in search of a pulse. And thank goodness, it’s there. She’s alive, just knocked out.

He’s got to get her out of there.

As he’s hauling her over his shoulder, he looks around for another window; the two on the far side of the living room where the tree is burning and Santa is  _melting_ is not an option. But the kitchen. The kitchen is safe enough.

When the window in the kitchen is open and just a _touch_ of fresh, cold, New York air gets sucked in before hot hair is forced out, the woman stirs with a faint cough.

“Hey. Hey, lady, can you hear me?” he asks her as he peeks his head down to the ground below. There are fireman already there, looking at him, trying to shout at him, waving their arms to let him know they’re trying to help. Spider-Man _loves_ the fireman.

She moans this time before her eyes snap open, frantic. “ _Hijo!”_

Peter startles, fumbling with his grip. “What? Where?” he looks around, but he doesn’t see anyone else in the apartment. Unless…

Oh fuck. There was another door across from the bedroom he came out of.

“My son, he’s - he’s in his room!”

She starts to squirm, to run back to said bedroom, but Peter pulls her close, keeping them up on the kitchen counter by the window; his foot falls into the sink and upsets a few dirty dishes. He notes there’s already burns on the woman’s back from her attempts to fight through some of the flames before she inevitably took that dive in her living room.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he holds her tight, looking back down at the window. The fireman are still there. “ _Hey,”_ he tries again as she squirms, his voice as gentle as possible, considering the circumstances. “What’s your name?”

She’s starting to cry at this point. “Maria. Please, Spider-Man, my _son -”_

“Okay. Maria. I’m gonna go get him.” He starts shooting a few webs around her, creating a protective cocoon. The last one he shoots stays connected to his wrist, keeping her bound to him. “I’m just gonna lower you down first, okay? There’s fireman down there, they’ll take care of you.”

She tries to escape again. It’s harder with the webs.

“I’m gonna go get him, Maria. I promise. Here we go.” It’s a tight squeeze, he’s lucky Maria is on the small side. He makes a steady but not _too_ steady extension on the web connected to his wrist to get her down as fast he can without like, _throwing_ her. It only takes maybe twenty seconds before the fireman have her in their arms and Peter lets the web go, white rope fluttering down to the ground.

“Kid,” he whispers to himself, jumping back on the ceiling. “Gotta get the kid.” The heat is starting to verge on _unbearable_ and he’s coughing. It reminds him of his asthmatic days. He certainly doesn’t miss them.

He makes it back over to the other side of the apartment, just barely. If it weren’t for his ability to walk on the ceiling, he’d be _screwed._ In fact, he’s still on said ceiling when he anchors his weight there and kicks at the top of the door, praying the child isn’t directly on the other side, waiting to be rescued or god forbid…

No, he won’t even think it.

The door opens, but doesn’t go flying like the first time. And unlike with the fireball he had faced with the other door, this room is untouched by flames. There’s a changing table, some toys, a small crib, and Peter panics a little.

Not just a kid. It’s a _baby._

There’s no crying, and that’s alarming; just because there wasn’t any fire in here doesn’t mean the room isn’t smoky as all hell, and that’s not good for anyone’s lungs, especially a _baby’s._ Peter drops to the floor and runs over to the crib.

The baby is breathing just fine. In fact, he’s _sleeping._

Peter takes half a second to be jealous that said baby can sleep through anything.

“Okay, okay,” he says to himself, looking around the room. He’s gonna need to use the ceilings, which means he needs both hands. A sling. He can tie a sling for the baby. Or maybe they have a harness he can use…

He looks around, still _coughing,_ his masked mouth buried in the crook of his elbow (as if that’ll help anything) when his eyes land on a perfectly sized blue blanket. Quickly, he snatches it up, catching the embroidered name stitched in the bottom corner.

_Jesús_

The baby wakes and immediately starts crying, because why wouldn’t he? Some teenager in a spider-themed superhero costume is picking him up and tying him to his chest. Jesús tucks his face into Peter’s chest and starts to wail, but that’s fine. Wailing means he’s breathing and Peter can live with the damage to his eardrums.

There’s a crash somewhere - outside, above, below, he doesn’t know - so he’s quick to get back on the ceiling while it’s still there. “Okay, buddy, just sit tight,” _cough_ “And let’s get out of here.”

Turns out a baby sling strapped to your chest isn’t the best tactic when you’re hanging upside down. Peter has to use his webs to keep the baby to his chest, which is sure to be a sticky mess later, and crawls toward the baby’s window.

The ceiling creaks.

Peter drops to the floor, just in case.

And then the roof comes down, collapsing on top of Jesús’ crib, and effectively blocking the window.

He doesn’t have time to think logistics. The baby keeps wailing as Peter darts out of the room, on the ceiling that’s still intact, and finds himself dropping back in the living room that is now completely engulfed in flames. He can’t see a damn thing. It’s hot, it’s smokey, he can’t _breathe -_

This time, the _floor_ creaks.

He and Jesús fall through the floor.

Peter’s not sure what he hits his head on - a table, the edge of a granite counter, who the hell knows - but it has him out cold for a few seconds. He’s familiar with the sensation. He’s been KO’d a handful of times fighting crime, and Karen always manages to wake him up ten or fifteen seconds after the fact. This time is no different. Except for the fact that he’s on _fire_ this time.

Ouchie.

He comes to with a yelp, trying to slap the flames away. It’s his legs, just his legs, and Jesús is safe from the flames. He looks around and sees that he’s fallen straight into yet _another_ nativity scene - his head hit the side of a wooden barn display and his ass is currently sitting in a crushed manger.

Great. He’s literally got Maria’s son Jesús in a broken manger. When did his life get so weird?

“Gotta get out, gotta get out.” At this point he’s dizzy from no oxygen, his legs are _killing him,_ and his head really hurts. This floor is considerably less _on fire_ and he manages to get to a window right as his vision starts blackening at the edges, his ears ringing…

He opens the window. Shoots a web. Swings down to the ground.

And promptly collapses with a weak cough on the sidewalk.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up with a _glint_ in his eye.

It takes a moment, but he’s aware that there’s a fireman standing above him. The glint is the shine coming off his helmet as he stands above him, hands curled underneath his mask -

Peter pushes himself back, shoulders bumping against the fire ambulance as he tries to protect his identity.

The fireman is smiling at him. And not sadistically. It’s a nice smile. “Good, you’re awake.” Peter vaguely registers Karen talking in his ear. This time he doesn’t know how long he was down. He gently swats the fireman away as he keeps reaching for the mask.  “Hey, Spidey, it’s okay. I’m just gonna lift it above your nose. You need oxygen, kid.”

Kid. _Kid!_

He looks down and sees that Jesús is still webbed up to his chest.

“Can you give him to me?” the fireman asks. “He needs to be looked at, but I couldn’t get him out of your web.”

Peter can’t either. He doesn’t have the stuff that’ll disintegrate it. Not even at May’s. He ran out a long time ago. Tony has some though -

Oh. Tony.

Tony’s gonna _freak._

“I can’t,” Peter finally admits with a wheeze. “I don’t have the stuff to make it disintegrate. It takes….three hours…” he falls into a coughing fit while he tries to stand, only to find it’s impossible. His lungs feel like they’re on _fire_ and his _legs -_

His legs were definitely on fire, judging by the burns. He’s afraid to stand.

“Okay, I can work with that.” The fireman circles him and picks him up by the underarms. “Into the ambulance for some oxygen, the both of ya.”

Peter doesn’t have the strength to argue. He lets the nice fireman help him into an ambulance where he immediately closes the door behind him. As the man starts getting the oxygen ready, Peter has to pull the mask down to call Karen.

“Tell Mr. Stark to bring me the stuff to disintegrate the webs,” he wheezes and Karen gives the affirmative, telling him that Tony is only five minutes out, considering Spider-Man already made the news coverage when he lowered Maria into the street.

The fireman handles the baby first, then Peter. “Spidey,” he shakes the oxygen mask, but doesn’t reach for Peter’s again. “I’ve got oxygen -”

He can’t _breathe._ He needs the whole mask off. So with a big _fuck you_ to his identity, he rips the whole mask off before greedily reaching for the oxygen and attaching it to his face.

They sit in silence. Sorta. The baby is whining. Peter is wheezing. The fireman doesn’t say anything at all. When Peter steals a glance at him out the corner of his eye, he doesn’t seem too particularly bothered by the sixteen year old superhero sitting in his ambulance. He looks a little worried, but he’s calm enough, and Peter supposes that’s….good.

“You’re one of us now,” the fireman finally says with a small grin. “I’m not about to out ya. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Before he has time to overthink whether or not that’s true, the back doors of the fire ambulance rip open. Peter starts to pull the oxygen away, reach for his mask, but it’s Tony Stark, eyes blown wide in worry.

“Kid!”

Said worry isn’t eased when he sees Peter without his mask, attached to oxygen and legs mangled in burns. With a baby still on his chest, no less.

He sees the fireman, decides what’s done is done concerning his identity, and shifts into full on Dad Mode. “He needs the suit off.”

Peter tries to rock a wailing baby. “Jesús...he’s stuck in my webbing...”

Tony reaches into his pocket, pulls out the goods. “I brought it. I’ll get the rugrat off. You did good, kid.”

In under a minute, the baby is finally off his chest and the fireman slips out to give the baby more comprehensive care. As soon as he’s gone Tony reaches over and presses the spider on his chest, letting the suit pool around him. Peter whines a little when Tony has to pull some of the fabric away from his burned skin. It’s a painstakingly slow process, too.

“Ow, ow, _ow.”_

“I know, kid. I know,” he says softly. “It’s almost over. Hang in there, buddy.”

Eventually, he pulls the oxygen mask away and asks, “Why isn’t this suit fireproof?”

Tony reaches up and puts the mask back on Peter’s face. “You don’t really do fires,” he says, mimicking what Karen said earlier.

He pulls the mask away again. “I blew up your plane. There was a lot of fire, then.”

“Well forgive me for thinking that was a one time thing. Mask _on,”_ his hand lingers when he puts the mask back over his mouth, just to make a point. “But don’t worry,” he finally mumbles, taking a good look at Peter’s legs. “I’ll add it to the list.”

He works in silence on dressing his wounds for a few minutes while Peter simply focuses on _breathing._ Then, there’s a knock on the car door and it opens, just a sliver.

“Spidey? It’s me.” It’s the same fireman’s voice. “Gabriel. I’ve got some clothes for you, can I come in?”

Gabriel? The fireman that stood above him with the sunshine bouncing off his helmet like a halo is named _Gabriel?_

This day is a joke.

“Unbelievable,” Peter mumbles.

Tony side-eyes Peter, clearly still thinking about the whole outed identity situation, but he lets him in anyway. Peter is sure Tony will talk to him or pay him off later.

But Gabriel is surprisingly nonchalant about the whole _Peter is Spider-Man and Spider-Man is a kid_ thing. It’s like he’s used to superheroes and vigilantes. Maybe he is. There are others in New York, it’s not just him. His gear jingles around as he walks over and hands a pile of folded clothes to Peter. “No one knows you’re in here, don’t worry. And like I said, I'm not about to tell anyone. The church across the street is fine. I mentioned I had a kid that needed clothes and well….they just did a Christmas play last night.”

Peter unfolds the garments to reveal what can only be described as a _shepherds outfit._

Tony struggles to swallow a laugh.

He pulls the mask away. “I can’t go out in this.”

Tony nearly flicks him on the head when he puts the mask back on. Peter’s getting really tired of this game of tug of war. “Beats a hospital gown. Plus, you’ve gone out in worse. Hello Kitty pants?”

“That’s...not worse. _This_ is worse.”

“No, your homemade onesie was. Remember those goggles?”

“Mr. _Stark.”_

“And not to mention you’re currently wearing….are those snowflakes on your boxers?”

_“Tony!”_

Gabriel clears his throat and Peter feels his cheeks warm as he recalls that this strange person now fully knows his identity. Well, not really. He doesn’t know his name. But he’s sure he can figure it out. He said he wouldn’t but...oh well. Maybe blind trust is what the holiday spirit is all about.

He tries to distract himself. “Did everyone get out? Is the fire contained?”

Peter shoves Tony’s hand away when he tries to force the mask on his face again _._ “No casualties that we know of. Working on containing it, but it should be fine. Thanks for all your help, Spidey.”

He nods, but then he remembers the size of the building. All of the people who no longer have a home. “Where will all those people stay?”

Tony shrugs and then answers for him. “Family, friends...if they need someplace to stay over the holidays, I’ll take care of it,” he turns to Gabriel and says, “If you give me a list of people who need to be put up in a hotel, I’ll set it up,” he already surfing for places on his phone, but Peter watches as his frown becomes more prominent as the seconds tick by. “What the everloving fuck is going on in town this weekend? Is it comic-con or something?” he scoffs. “Every single hotel in Queens is _booked.”_

Peter’s starting to think he hit his head harder than he thought. Or the lack of oxygen to his brain really did a number on him. Maybe he should put that mask back on. “I think I’m hallucinating.”

“You’re not,” Tony says easily. “Baby named Jesús, an angelic fireman named Gabriel, and now no room in the inn….it’s all very ridiculous, kid.”

Good. At least he’s not crazy.

“I don’t have any frankincense or myrrh but, oh!” Tony slides his gold watch off his wrist and holds it out to Peter. “Aha! Turns out I did come bearing gifts. I’ve been telling you I’m a wise man for _years_ have I not?”

Peter groans, slapping the oxygen mask back on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> this was going to be serious. like all whumpy and family mushy nonsense and then I ruined it and made it SILLY. I made a house fire silly. I suck. 
> 
> ps sorry bethany I couldn't fit other avengers in as wise men. I forgot who we said they'd be. bruce and.....natasha. let's go with natasha.
> 
> this is sooooo ridiculous I am so sorry.


End file.
